


don't open your eyes until I tell you to

by heibai



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, a one day romance, like pastel angst, mark is a street performer, really cheesy, renjun is a tourist, soft angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-07 02:02:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12830973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heibai/pseuds/heibai
Summary: Mark closed his eyes because he perfectly knew what was going to happen next. If doing what Renjun told him meant that it would happen faster, then so be it.“Good thing we’re never going to meet again.”(If doing what Renjun told him meant that he would have to feel this dull ache in his chest for the next few months,then so be it.)





	don't open your eyes until I tell you to

**Author's Note:**

> is renjun a manic pixie dream boy in this?? discuss

_‘There he is.’_

 

His fingers were starting to go numb from the cold, what with the sun suddenly deciding to hide behind the clouds. It _was_ spring, the last time Mark checked, at least (probably at 12 PM the same day, when he wondered if non-sunscreen-protected skin could be burned to crisp just by staying under the sunlight for a minute too long). But evenings and nights in this quaint lakeside town still has that winter chill, that a mere wind was more than enough to bite him to the bone.

 

Mark’s fingers were just starting to go numb when he spotted _him,_ his usual suspect that’s been popping around diligently around his busking place on the busy boardwalk for the last three days. A lanky boy, barely an adult ( _'_ _nineteen tops_ , _’_ Mark guessed, absentmindedly playing the game of _‘how old are they’_ with himself). Always spotted wearing a bomber jacket far too large for his body, it looked like he was almost eaten by the bunches of fabric.

 

At first Mark thought his loyal audience was lost, from how jerky his movement was, and how he would crane his head left and right so often Mark was afraid his head would suddenly roll off at the base of his neck. But no, _‘stupid,’_ he thought, _‘he’s a tourist.'_

 

In their first evening together, Mark actually didn’t really get to see his lost tourist-slash-audience all that much, as he mostly hung around the area behind him. Most likely resting his arms on the wall overlooking the lake, watching the sunset and people walking in and out of the nearby cafe holding a cone of soft serve. Isn’t it funny? A cafe with ice cream as their specialty item. Mark found it funny, but he couldn’t laugh, obviously, because he was too preoccupied with trying to perfectly execute the song he was playing then (and of course, because he’s been in the town for almost a year so he’d done all his laughing way back in his first week there). It was a random song picked randomly from his mental repertoire. Some popular western song, something romantic that almost entered the sappy territory for being played in a boardwalk during dusk. But people loved it, and he noticed that he got more money the more sappy the songs were. Mark learned quickly. He learned that sometimes, compromises have to be made and no matter how hard people deny it, they’re all a little bit of a hopeless romantic deep inside their heart.

 

He loves it when he has an audience, he loves it when he plays for _someone_ , and not just to countless sets of half-listening ears that walked past his spot before they could even hear him play a complete two bars. It gave him a little bit more _oomph_ , you know, that little bit of push of motivation for him to insert more heart to his performance.

 

His little audience was there for two songs. Maybe three. Or maybe it was two and a half. He honestly couldn’t remember. What Mark _did_ remember was the moment when the boy went to drop some change into his guitar case. He came in from his right, so close that Mark’s elbow almost brushed against his jacket, and they somehow caught each other’s eyes.

 

Mark probably missed a beat or two from the song he was playing, he probably forgot a whole section of the song’s lyrics when his lone audience smiled at him. A surprised smile. A shy smile as the boy mouthed the word _‘thankyou’_ before he ran off and disappeared into the crowd on the main street.

 

 _‘He’s cute,’_ Mark couldn’t help but think after the moment has come and gone and the evening has settled back to what it was before. He didn’t realise that his heartbeat has been racing until then, until the air around him has mellowed down into something that was devoid of any _peculiar_ emotions.

 

But just like how he’d quickly forget about any cute commuters he saw in the morning bus, Mark didn’t pay much attention to any of it. Just like any other people in that situation, he’d completely forgotten about the encounter until he saw the boy _again_ the next evening.

 

It was then that Mark got a good look of his audience, for he chose to sit on a garden bench just to the right of his busking spot. He had his phone out, probably chatting with a friend, probably taking a picture of the sunset, probably recording a random busker he saw on a street of a strange lakeside town.

 

There it was again. Something peculiar in the air. Changing the smell of it, how the sun hit the cobblestoned street, how the twang of his guitar lilt out into the night. And how Mark unconsciously smiled alongside his lone audience when he played a song that the boy knew.

 

From then on, it was a game of _‘guess his favourite musician’_. The rule is… there actually is no rule. The game was invented five seconds before spontaneously by Mark himself who never cared much about rules anyway. But it was easy to know when he won. He only needed to see if his audience tapped his foot alongside the beat of his guitar. Double points if the boy began to mouth the lyrics of the song. Usually when that happened Mark will unconsciously start singing along, because he loves seeing the smile on his audience’s lips grew wider everytime he does so. He rarely does it, singing when he’s busking that is. Mark usually will just stick to playing his guitar unless he _really_ loves the song. Because he thought, _‘why do I have to try so hard when nobody really listened?’_. But that day, somebody listened. He had no choice then, really, but to try his best to make his only audience happy.

 

When evening finally turned to night and there was no longer any sunlight to soothe the chill caused by the strong wind, his audience stood up from the bench and did a little stretch. He’s been sitting there for almost five songs now, and he walked up to Mark’s spot when the sixth was playing. An old show tune, because Mark quickly figured his audience has a penchant for Broadway songs.

 

His audience dropped a five dollar bill into his guitar case and said a faint, “thankyou.” This time, he didn’t only mouth his gratitude. He said it out loud and Mark could hear the funny little accent that coloured his pronunciation. Mark returned his smile, when the boy looked up and their gaze met. He once again disappeared into the crowd in the mainstreet before Mark could even return his thankyou with a _‘you’re welcome.’_

 

But maybe he’ll have his chance that day, the third day he spotted his audience walking towards him from the hidden lane by the lakeside cafe. He walked to his garden bench from the day before with a book in his hand and looked at Mark with a knowing smile and a little nod.

 

 _‘There he is,’_ he thought, and his fingers were no longer freezing. Probably it was caused by the surprised shock that ran throughout his body in ripples. That despite all odds, he could see his lone audience again. Once again he could _perform_ to someone, watch his audience swung his feet to the beat of his song, watch him grin and giggle to himself when Mark played this one song that seemed to be a favourite of his. _City of Stars._ Sappy. Very, very sappy when played on a pier with the colour of sunset serving as his backdrop.

 

But his lone audience was smiling so brightly into the book he was reading that Mark didn’t mind the not-so-subtle _‘oh god please’_ looks given to him by a group of highschool kids that walked past him while holding cups of frozen slush from a nearby fast food chain.

 

_It’s love, yes all we’re looking for is love from someone else._

_A rush, a glance, a touch, a dance._

 

 _‘Where is he from,’_ Mark wondered as he kept on strumming the notes to the song he was playing, _‘he looks Japanese. Maybe he’s Chinese. Maybe he’s Korean!’_ The accent he had was in no way a help in telling Mark where his lone audience came from, as _‘thankyou’_ is a word far too short for one to take anything out of it.

 

_But this time there’s actually something on my mind._

_So please forgive these few brief awkward lines._

 

Mark only knew that time passed with the amount of pages his audience go through in a span of a song. He’s a quick reader, Mark noticed. Really, really quick. Three taps of a feet and his eyes will dart back to the start of a new paragraph. One bar of a song and he already moved to the next page. On and on and on he went, until seemingly he finished a chapter right as Mark finished his second song and he watched his audience took a long inhale when Mark strummed the last note, as if the feat brought him such sense of satisfaction.

 

_All the odds are in my favour, something’s bound to begin._

_It’s got to happen, happen sometime, maybe this time I’ll win._

 

One song turned to two, turned to three, then four, five, six, until at last the adrenaline in his blood has finally ran dry and Mark could no longer feel where his fingers were placed in relation to the strings of his guitar. It was all thanks to his muscle memory that his seventh song didn’t just sound like a garbled mess of wrong keys and broken tempo.

 

Besides, he was playing one of his favourite song. So how could he possibly butcher it? Looking at how his audience was mouthing the lyrics, it’s safe to say that he also held the song close to his heart. Well, at least Mark _hoped_ that was the case.

 

_Take this sinking boat and point it home, we've still got time._

_Raise your hopeful voice, you have a choice, you'll make it now_ _._

 

 _‘That’s it,’_ Mark finally decided to call it a day after he took a glance down and saw how pale his fingers were. If he lost in a sort of one sided competition played only with himself (of who could stay there on the broadwalk the longest), let him lose because to be frank, he wouldn’t be able to perform to the best of his abilities anymore and some part of his ego, or probably just his conscience as a musician, didn’t want himself to be remembered as a busker who chickened out after delivering one shitty performance. Let his lone audience remember him as a great busker, the greatest one he’d ever seen.

 

A busker who somehow managed to play all their favourite songs.

 

Mark was hoping that his audience will notice that he’d stopped playing and he’ll get a chance to once again hear his timid _‘thankyou’_. Then maybe he’d be able to somehow pinpoint his audience’s home country. Mark’s bet was that he’s Korean. Didn’t know if it was because the white, black, and blue jacket his audience was wearing resembled the Korean flag if not just for a little bit, or maybe it was because Mark has grown a mild case of homesickness after all this time he’d spent being away from home.

 

But the boy didn’t move from his spot, not even a muscle. Well, he _was_ moving his foot, crossed over one knee and still tapping to a phantom beat. Seemingly to a song only he could hear.

 

It was then that a surge of _something_ rushed through Mark’s veins. All of them, all at the same time, and so powerful that he almost lost his balance when he bent down to hoist up his guitar case over his shoulder. _Go over to him and tell_ him _thankyou._

 

Thankyou for listening, thankyou for the donation (five dollars is _a lot_ ), thankyou for seemingly enjoying my performance.

 

Okay, the last one might sound a bit too cocky but Mark knew he didn’t have to ever reach that point. A thankyou. That. Only that. And he could be the one in return to disappear into the crowd of people walking along the main street.

 

His audience was so engrossed by his book, it seemed, that he didn’t notice anything even when Mark was standing right in front of him. A long pause where nothing really happened it caused Mark to quickly rethink all his life choices that’d led him to that position. Standing in front of a stranger, not knowing what to do like some stupid fool. Maybe he’d been playing sappy songs for too little too long. All the sweet words have poisoned his brain, turning it to mush that expected the world to play like a saccharine sweet Broadway musical.

 

But then a boat on the lake let out one long toot of its horn and his audience let out a tiny surprised yelp, followed by a tiny jump he did on his seat when he finally did look up and noticed the strange presence in front of him.

 

At the same time Mark also noticed a roll of blue-ish paper tucked in the boy’s palm, between his fingers and the pages of his book.

 

 _Ten dollars._ Holy shit. Maybe approaching his audience was not a bad decision after all.

 

“Excuse me,” he managed to cough out his words after they’ve spent five seconds too long just staring, gawking at each other with increasing level of awkwardness.

 

Probably Mark’s mind was still trying to re-orient itself after being pushed to the brink of implausible social interaction, maybe he was waiting for his audience to hand him his ten dollars even though he wasn’t actually sure if the money was for _him_ or if the boy was just planning to get dinner right afterward, but Mark found himself not executing his plan of running straight to the main street. Instead, he hesitated long enough for his audience to close his book and watched as his face was lit up in a smile of recognition.

 

The boy let out an exclamation sound, something between _‘oh!’_ and a swear word while he did three predictable things in quick succession. He closed his book, uncrossed his legs, and scooted slightly to his right. In fact, he was acting so predictably that Mark could guess what he’d say and do next before the boy even did it.

 

“Want to take a seat?” He smiled, a quaint crook painting his lips in a mix of surprise and excitement. Didn’t take Mark a long time before he agreed to do so, his legs _were_ starting to kill him (and the boy really indeed was far too cute for Mark to waste any more time being stupid and not going along with the magic that was carried thickly in the evening’s air).

 

“I just want to ask if you enjoyed your evening,” Mark breathed out as he tried to make himself comfortable on the bench, or whatever emotion was closest to it because he was nowhere near being comfortable as he tried his best to navigate through a strange and foreign social interaction.

 

_Please don’t be weird please don’t be weird please don’t be weird._

 

“Oh it’s nice! Really nice, thanks to your beautiful music,” the boy let out a soft chuckle and Mark took a deep, relieved breath to that. _‘At least he’s_ not _weird.’_ Well, not _yet._

 

“And the book too, I figured,” Mark nodded at the direction of his book and it turned the boy’s chuckle into a full blown laughter, “I’m Mark, by the way. Or Minhyung,- whichever one you feel comfortable saying.”

 

“I’m Renjun, nice to meet you.” His audience’s eyes grew as an indication for his pleased surprise. It felt like he was saying _‘someone from home!’_ Or someone _near_ home, at least, if Mark’s final guess after hearing the boy’s name was correct. “Minhyung…” Renjun said his word in a way that made it seem like he was _tasting_ it, letting the syllables run through his tongue as he repeated and contemplated on his name for a few more times, “Mark are you Korean?”

 

Renjun’s voice was light, fitting for someone who looked as close as you could get to a forest nymph, and the way he sounded saying Mark’s name, thin but gravelly in the cold night air, caused a smile to unknowingly creep up onto his face. He nodded then, confirming Renjun’s speculation, and threw out one guess of his own,

 

“Are you Chinese?”

 

Renjun snapped his fingers while mouthing the word _‘bingo’_ and they laughed once more. Courteous laugh that was tinted dark with awkwardness. Yes, the air around them felt somehow heavier from the ones surrounding the rest of the boardwalk, and it rested uncomfortably on Mark’s shoulder like phantom weights that were ominously pushing down on his lungs, but he wouldn’t want it any other way. Just like in auditions, sometimes, nervousness is a _good thing._

 

“I was really hoping for you to be a Korean, I miss speaking it!” Mark spouted out the sentence in one sharp exhale, revelling on it this rare sense of giddiness, one that only could be felt when you’re bonding with a stranger over a special little aspect of your life. Bonding with a stranger who you sensed won’t be a stranger for much longer.

 

“I was hoping for you to _not_ be Chinese because I want to practice my English more.”

 

“Oh but your English is great though.”

 

It didn’t take them long after that, after Renjun sharply laughed and leaned forward so he was able to slap Mark’s forearm in a way that said _‘you’re too nice’,_ before something clicked. _Something_. What it was, Mark wasn’t exactly sure, but it was there, and Mark could feel his heart swell three times its original size. (Because a _normal_ stranger wouldn’t have touched him in such an intimate way, he figured. Yes, it was only his forearm, but he felt that Renjun’s fingers had gone past some line that separated the area of _is he or is he not._ )

 

“What are you doing in this town?” Mark knew he asked a question that hit a special spot in Renjun’s mind because the boy proceeded to exasperatedly groan and flop his arms to the side of his legs.

 

“Family holiday.”

 

“Do you hate them that much?”

 

Mark was glad Renjun could read the jest hidden behind his question (as the language barrier between them could’ve caused all their effort of building up this conversation to tumble down in a messy heap of misunderstanding), clearly so when he answered with a slight shrug of his shoulders, “they tire me out. I need some time alone, you know? Explore the town by myself.”

 

Just like what he did before, it was then Renjun’s turn to throw Mark a similar question, “what are _you_ doing here?” A game of table tennis, that’s what they were playing. Light enough to bounce around the table with ease, but delicate enough that they had to still control everything with some level of precision.

 

“I’m studying at the university.”

 

“Ooh, fancy.”

 

“Not really, no.”

 

He had to literally whore out his talent for some extra pocket money. Mark’s life, at least in his opinion, is at a far enough point from being _‘fancy’_ that a full burger meal at a local fish and chip shop could be considered as a luxury.

 

“Aren’t you hot?” Mark asked while pointing his index finger on Renjun’s bulky jacket. Now that he knew Renjun was here with his family, Mark wondered if maybe the jacket wasn’t even _his_ in the first place. Maybe he got it from his older brother, or his dad, or an uncle. A hand me down that couldn’t be refused because hey, who doesn’t like free stuff?

 

“Aren’t you cold?” Renjun retaliated with a jab to Mark’s lack of any clothing layer that could bring him warmth. To say the truth, yes he _was_ cold but he hated playing his guitar while wearing a jacket, because it’ll just distract him and ruin everything up. But that’s a much too long explanation to be given to a stranger so Mark only answered with a defeated laugh.

 

Their roll of conversation came to a calm stop after their laughter died out with the end of their light, mindless chat, and Mark was anxious to get it going again. It was apparent that Renjun too has been visited by the jitters, when he went on and rolled the pages of his book between his fingers during the awkward silences that spanned between them.

 

Five seconds felt like five hours and when Renjun suddenly jumped up to his feet, Mark figured _that’s it_ . That was the end. And in that moment between Renjun opening his mouth and voice coming out from it, Mark kind of regretted for ever ruining his fantasy and attempted to… what, flirt? Be adventurous? He should’ve let it be, let his lone audience live forever in his mind as just that. A fantastical _what if._

 

But then Mark heard what Renjun got to say and he was pleasantly, wholeheartedly surprised by it.

 

Never imagined his lost, lone traveller with the face of a nymph could ever steer the night into such uncharted territory.

 

“Are you hungry Mark? Let’s grab some dinner. I’m _starving_.”

 

(Or maybe, the reason why earlier Mark was unable to ran away to the main street was because the image of Renjun sitting on a garden bench, lit softly from the side by the waning light of day that the shadow seemed to play with and shift his features around to make him look _otherworldly_ , was a much too beautiful sight that he was unwilling to let what probably was a one in a lifetime view fleet away so unceremoniously.)

 

_ _ _ _ _

 

Renjun insisted that he paid for their dinner. He argued that A.) he is on a holiday so he doesn’t need to mind his expenses and be stingy about anything and B.) he was going to drop the ten dollar bill on Mark’s guitar case anyway, so it shouldn’t matter all that much, no?

 

They went to a nice restaurant at the waterfront. Something woody and rustic with a romantic feel to it produced by the ripples of sunlight that got filtered through windows so ancient the glasses looked like they were melting. Thicker at the bottom than they were at the top.

 

“Why? I want to try this place,” Renjun waved his hand when Mark told him that the place is a bit pricy, “I’m a tourist _and_ I’m paying. I have the final say on what we’re getting.”

 

Renjun is not much of a talker, that was one fact Mark was sure of. Their walk to the restaurant was excruciatingly silent that doubt had started to pop into Mark’s mind once again. But he trudged through it bravely and his patience was rewarded with everything that he ever wished for (at least for the last six months). A _fancy_ meal, alcohol, and a nice conversational partner to spend the rest of his night with. Give a man a bottle of beer and a spread of nicely cooked meal, then mouths will _surely_ start to open.

 

“I can’t believe I found myself a friend here in this place. _Wild._ ” Renjun tried to talk with his mouth half full of the herbed chips they got to share. Everything came out as a mumble but seeing that he kept on going, he didn’t seem to mind sounding a little bit silly, “what are the odds too that it’s a _street performer._ A street performer that smells nice,- no offense to you and your other performer friends, but you know what I mean.”

 

Mark knew what he meant, “I clean up nicely.”

 

“I can see it.”

 

Renjun paused their conversation for a little while to stare wistfully out the windows and to the lake. It was nearing seven at night but the sky was still a colour of light blue, and when Renjun next looked back at him, his eyes were lit with a faint sense of wonderment, “don’t you find it crazy?”

 

“Crazy how?”

 

“How we ended up here. Imagine the amount of luck and coincidence that led me to end up here in this restaurant with you.” Renjun took another swig of his beer and it was only then did Mark notice how flushed his cheeks were getting.

 

“Are you drunk? What’s with the sappy talk.”

 

He put down his bottle and snatched another piece of their chips, wagging it wildly in front of Mark’s face with a challenging grin sitting precariously on his face, “you don’t know me yet. You don’t know that I am sappiness personified.”

 

“As a person who said _‘I want an English speaking buddy to improve my English’_ , you have a _really_ good vocabulary.”

 

Mark knew Renjun heard him. He knew the boy also heard the mocking tone in his sentence, probably a little bit too pointed to be considered as just a harmless jest. But even if he _was_ offended, Renjun was good enough to hide it and he casually jumped to another conversational branch as if nothing was bothering him, “what did you say made you approach me again?”

 

Mark knew he should’ve lied, or probably tone his answer a little bit. Because going for a full blown truth just didn’t seem to be the most sane option. Although, before he got the chance to say _‘I want my money’,_ he got swayed by the damned atmosphere and Renjun’s own words. _Sappiness personified._ Well, get ready because Mr. Hopeless Romantic has just entered the premises.

 

“I think you’re cute.”

 

The silence that followed his confession was painful and Mark never thought of himself as a stupid idiot more than at that moment. _Good job coming off as a creep, creep._

 

But then, just when the moment was at the most dire point, Renjun’s laughter pierced through the stillness (like a toot of a boat on the lake, just much more _beautiful)_ and everything was set to right once more.

 

“Am I?”

 

Mark didn’t have to answer that question, he knew it. Renjun knew it. Everyone knew it. Of course he is.

 

“Confession time: at first I thought you were an old man,” Mark had a feeling he should be offended when he heard that, but what could he say to that? He does look old for his age. Ancient, even, what with him having to walk around with the weight of the world on his shoulders. Besides, Renjun was telling his story in such an animated way and he didn’t dare to be a killjoy and ruin everything with a butthurt comment, “which was why I was so surprised when I first clearly saw your face!”

 

“Good surprised or bad surprised?” He teased, and for the first time in that night, Mark started to become suspicious for the source of the blush of Renjun’s cheeks. Was it the alcohol or was it the content of their conversation?

 

“Good, definitely.”

 

Both, he decided, it was both.

  
  
_

Mark guessed they were on their second bottle of beer, after they’ve grown tired of watching passers by and each other over their halfway eaten food when Renjun asked,

 

“What do you want in a perfect date night?”

 

A piece of fried fish almost was hurled out of his mouth when Mark let out a choked laughter, “why are you asking that all of a sudden?”

 

Renjun’s frown when Mark asked that looked as if the answer was supposed to be something very obvious, and that he didn’t understand the bafflement displayed on Mark’s face, “the night has been perfect, _for me_ , at least. And I thought, _‘why not keep the winning streak going?’_

 

“This time, we don’t have to rely on fate and coincidences to make it happen,” Renjun then leaned forward, and stopped right when a sun ray perfectly hit his face, uplifting his daring smile into something much more special than what it was supposed to be, “so? What do you want to do next?”

 

Mark didn’t know that Renjun has been seeing everything as a _date._ Was he the one who’s blind, or was Renjun the one moving too quickly down the assembly line? Should he be the one pulling the boy to a stop, or should he run up to him to catch up? It was an easy choice, really, especially with the help of alcohol to let loose all the inner desires that would’ve normally been kept behind a tightly locked cage, “let’s watch the sunset on the shore. I can play you any songs you like.”

 

“Then we have to go quick! The sun is going down in thirty minutes, right?” Renjun said while he flicked his fingers up to flag down the waitress, asking her if it’s possible for them to pay in advance.

 

Mark wanted to tell him not to worry, that the sun won’t fully disappear until one, one a half hour at a minimum. But with Renjun’s eyes all wide and glistening as a jolt of panic rushed through his veins, Mark saw that under the setting sun they took the colour of a light brown. Like a cup of thin, watered down coffee. And it somehow made him lose what he had in him that was needed to stop Renjun from moving their night along, because he too was excited to see what pleasant surprises it might hold.

 

They could always take their leftover chips with them to the lake anyway. It’ll be like a small picnic. It’ll be perfect.

 

_ _ _ _ _

 

Mark sort of regretted his earlier jab at Renjun’s jacket because how much he’d give for one right now. The wind in that lake shore was blowing with a vengeance and Mark could only wave out the cold-bitten feeling on his fingers with a bitter grimace. The cold _was_ the main reason for why he stopped busking in the first place, so what was he doing back out there again?

 

Oh, right.

 

Because when Mr. Sappiness Personified met up with Mr. Hopeless Romantic, the result is two people trying their best to brave the cold just so they could sit under the last few precious minutes of the sun before it took its nap far over the rolling hills at the other side of the lake.

 

“Will you play me ‘god help the outcasts’ from Hunchback of Notre Dame?” Mark hasn’t even finished de-tangling his guitar from its case when Renjun clapped his hands together and looked up to him with such hope and dreams in his eyes.

 

“That’s depressing,” he mumbled back, mind being half there, tuning the strings, and half swimming inside his mental music cabinets to see if he even remembered half of the chords for that song.

 

“You said you’ll play me anything I want.”

 

Mark didn’t have to look to know that Renjun’s lips were stretched out into a pout, “just kidding, gosh, you’re touchy.”

 

To prevent Renjun from shooting back some sort of witty rebuttal, Mark began to strum his guitar to the key of Renjun’s requested song. Or _something_ as close to them as he could remembered. His memory might be a little bit sketchy, but he knew he got most it right when Renjun started to sing along.

 

_I ask for nothing I can get by, but I know so many less lucky than I._

_God help the outcasts the poor and downtrod, I thought we all were Children of God_

 

“You never told me you can sing that well,” Mark said, pleasantly surprised while right next to him Renjun was beaming at him with a prideful smile.

 

“You never asked.”

 

They sat there for tens of minutes and songs lilt out from the guitar on, and on, and on. Renjun sang and sometimes Mark would join too, the only other sound that mattered were gravels grinding under people’s shoes as they walked along the boardwalk right behind them. Those even were a rare occurrence, what with people still having sanity would never think about sitting by the water at such low temperature.

 

So it was just them. The guitar and their voices singing sappy, romantic songs (and occasional darker ones because when Mark asked Renjun _‘what kind of music do you usually listen to?’_ Renjun answered with, _‘depressing’)_. And indeed, it was a perfect date, his freezing fingers notwithstanding. Because at one point Renjun noticed how dangerously pale Mark’s fingers were (they were so pale it took a colour of yellowish, dried out bone of a sad roadkill), and he took them into his own, forcing them away from the guitar and bundling them up under his puffy, hideously coloured bomber jacket.

 

“I’m sure you don’t have frostbitten fingers as an item in your perfect date night itinerary,” Renjun giggled as he rubbed Mark’s ice cold digits and blew in warm puffs of breath down the small tunnel he made out of his jacket.

 

“You asked me to play the songs, so I played them.” Mark wanted his words to come out as a cautionary threat, some sort of childish _‘I’m hurt, please kiss my booboo’_ because he hoped that… Renjun would react positively to it? Hearing the boy talk, it was easy for Mark to come into conclusion that he was so burned out because he was trying so hard to take care of all of his younger cousins during their day trips. With seven cousins (and counting, he told Mark his aunt is pregnant with her third child), it would’ve been a hard task for any well-trained adults, let alone a teenager fresh out of highschool.

 

“Oh, so it’s my fault now?” His tactic worked, kind of. Sort of. Renjun leaned forward and instead of blowing his breath from far away, he brought their entwined hands up to his face and puffed a warm exhale right onto Mark’s cupped palms. The sheer _absurdity_ of their situation caused Mark to break his own promise, by blurting one question he swore he will never ask Renjun again because the last three times he did so, Renjun always found the most painfully awkward way to evade having to answer it,

 

“Tell me where you’re staying.”

 

“No.”

 

That was the closest he ever got to an answer. But it was clearly not an answer that he wanted to hear.

 

“Why not?”

 

Mark immediately regretted his decision of insistently pursuing a conversation that he knew Renjun didn’t want to have when his hands were dropped nicely to his lap. He didn’t want that. That was not in his perfect date night itinerary, Renjun letting go of his hand so unceremoniously as that. But before he could demand for more, Mark was reaped clean of all his ability to speak when Renjun used his warm finger to keep Mark’s gaze where he wanted it to be, looking right into his.

 

“What do you want in a perfect date night?”

 

 _You, I want more of you_.

 

“I want mine to end with both parties never having to meet each other, _ever again._ And when we tell other people about what happened during the night, they will laugh at us and not believe a thing we say because it’ll sound like pure romantic fiction.”

 

He was rendered silence, still, long after Renjun told him his version of a perfect date night. A part of him thought that it was the most stupid, unnecessarily convoluted thing that two people could ever plan to happen voluntarily, but another part of him, that _masochistic_ part of him, was miraculously intrigued by Renjun’s crazy idea.

 

“Is it your life goal to walk the earth, leaving a trail of broken hearted buskers with this… absurd date night plan?”

 

Renjun laughed then, something soft just like the waning sunlight that barely reached the tips of their shoes. And his eyes averted to a spot in his legs where all of a sudden a frayed fabric seemed to piqued all of his interest, “it’s _perfect,_ isn’t it? Perfect doesn’t happen more than once. I don’t think something like this could ever happen to me again.”

 

The silence that followed his sentence was different from all the earlier ones. It wasn’t awkward, it wasn’t calming, it wasn’t reassuring, it was _final._ Mark could feel his heart swelling in a peculiar mix of pain and longing, a sense of homesickness that kicked far too early because the object of his night’s affection was still sitting there in front of him, on the lake’s shore, fiddling with a loose thread of his tattered jeans.

 

He didn’t know he was so afraid of having to say his goodbyes when Renjun suddenly took a deep inhale, one that was done only when someone was about to say something really important to them,

 

“Mark, close your eyes.”

 

“I… we… you know we don’t have to do this,-”

 

He didn’t know what else he wanted to say. He didn’t know what he could say to dishearten Renjun from doing what Mark thought he was going to do, because when their gazes met again, there was so much resolution hidden behind Renjun’s eyes that it immediately reduced his argument into a pained sigh.

 

“Close your eyes and don’t open them until I tell you to.”

 

“You’re unbelievable, do you know that?” The least he could do to lighten up the situation they were in was by poking fun on something. In this case, someone, more specifically Renjun _and_ himself too, for willingly going along and closing his eyes as he was told to. _‘What else could I do,’_ Mark tried to reason with himself, that he followed along because Renjun has this authoritarian tinge in his voice. One developed after so many times having to control his cousins, as it seemed, a tone that ensured the inability of his conversational partner to say no to him.

 

But who was he kidding. Mark closed his eyes because he perfectly knew what was going to happen next. If doing what Renjun told him to do would make it happen faster, then so be it.

 

“Good thing we’re never going to meet again then.”

 

(If doing what Renjun told him to do will cause him to feel this dull ache in his chest for the next few months, _then so be it._ )

 

Even with his eyes closed Mark could still see the sunlight, feel it filtering through his eyelids and making the stars under them dance in a show of a thousand colours. It was what he used to tell where Renjun was in relation to him, because when the boy was leaning right in front of his face, everything turned slightly darker than before.

 

The stars were still there though. In fact, they seemed to sparkle all that much brighter when Mark felt Renjun’s breath warm against his cheeks, the hoppy smell of beer wafting faintly under his nose when Renjun whispered his wish one more time, _“don’t open your eyes until I tell you to.”_

 

Mark didn’t count on the possibility that Renjun could’ve just decided to be evil and not give what he promised to give until after ten or so seconds passed and Renjun still hasn’t moved from his previous position. Now that Mark thought about it, Renjun never even explicitly say that he was going to do it, to kiss him, that was, and it caused Mark to feel such strong rush of panic that he almost opened his eyes.

 

Thinking back to it, maybe Renjun was waiting for that moment, for when Mark would lurch forward, in a way telling Renjun to _‘wait a second’_ without saying a single word, before he leaned in and eliminated the remaining distance between them. Before he perfected his date night and crossed off the last thing in his, and now also Mark’s, itinerary.

 

Renjun’s lips were soft. So soft, in fact, that Mark would’ve started to feel ashamed for the disheveled state of his own if he was not too busy reciprocating whatever it was that Renjun was doing to him. His hands shot up to hold the back of Renjun’s neck in an effort to keep him where he was longer, trapped in a kiss that went like a song.

 

Which started slow, and shy, almost, fingers unsure on where they should land, grabbing clumsily at each others’ sleeves. Then it built up, growing into something heart racing and _magnificent._ Mark felt teeth nibbling at his lower lip and open mouthed kisses, something that left a cool trail alongside the outermost corners of his lip. Their hands were braver then, Mark’s slipping within Renjun’s jacket and landing on the small of his back, and at the same time he could feel Renjun’s fingers bunching up the fabric of his shirt right around his waist.

 

But soon enough, Mark figured out that this was a song with no proper ending. Only with a question mark. Something that was missing a closing note. Renjun left him one long, lingering, sweet kiss and that was it. His shirt’s hem fell to its place and both of his hand were carefully taken off from where they were and put softly on his sides. No _goodbye_ , no _thankyou_ , no _see you_ , just the wind rushing through Mark’s hair as he sat there, unmoving, even when he knew his lone audience already stood up and was running to the direction of the crowd on the main street.

 

Because Renjun still hasn’t told him to open his eyes.

 

_ _ _ _ _

 

It would be the worst lie of the century to say that Mark didn’t try _his best_ to find where Renjun was staying come the next day.

 

After spending the rest of his night contemplating and ruminating and swimming around in a deep pool filled to the brim with his emotional angst, Mark decided that Renjun’s perfect date plan is a stupid thing and went on a journey to find Renjun’s hotel the first thing in the morning.

 

 _‘This is a small town,’_ he went on with much optimism, _‘won’t take long before I find him.’_

 

Indeed, it didn’t take him long. He even got it right on his first try, to make it everything sound more miraculous. But miracles don’t always come on the right time, because soon after the receptionist told him that _‘the big family? Yes they left the premises really early this morning. Told me they got to arrive at their next destination before noon.’_

 

Mark wondered if Renjun was sitting on that bus, biting his lips raw because of regret. Regret. Or anger or something, _anything_ massively negative. Mark wished that Renjun was crying right then. Just _devastatingly_ crying his heart out in a dingy mini van and his aunt will ask him _‘what’s wrong?’_ and he won’t be able to say anything because nobody will believe the ””fantastical”” fling he did the night before. _‘Get your nose off your book young boy, the plots have poisoned your brain.’_

 

He wished all that not because he’s a plain evil guy, just going around cursing people after they play him dirty. Far from that, it was because Mark refused to believe that he was the only party affected by this stupid game. He feared that Renjun has done this before, to many guys, or girls, he didn’t exactly know where Renjun fell on the spectrum and it’s always a possibility, and will keep on doing it again in the future. Another stranger he met at a garden, at a boardwalk, at a cafe, enticed by his attractiveness and falling into a cesspit filled with sappy, romantic bullshit.

 

He will say to those people _‘no, I’ve only ever done this to you,’_ and he’ll be sitting on a bus by the crack of dawn, sleeping it off like it was nothing. Like all of it was nothing but a sweet dream.

  
  
_

 _‘Four hours,’_ Mark just noticed that after a few months have passed. He only spent four hours with his lone audience yet he still couldn’t forget about him months afterward. Not even a single day.

 

His friends went from cooing at his story in adoration, to patting his back in empathy, to annoyingly sighing out the word, _‘you’re a delusional gay mess’_ in the span of a month. It’s been almost three now, and Mark has stopped talking about Renjun outwardly to anyone he knew.

 

He’s still busking on his usual spot on the boardwalk, always hoping that somehow he’ll spot his lone audience walking out of the cafe at the waterfront, reading his book in the gardens, strolling along the lake’s shoreline, but of course, nothing ever happened. And he knew nothing ever will, but still he held onto that wish like some hopeless fool.

  
  
_

Mark was _still_ busking, even if two years have passed since he graduated university and moved back to his city. Even if he was doing it not in front of a lake, but in front of a river instead. A river that runs across his city’s business district. Weird, he knew, but after five days of working a nine to five job sitting behind a desk staring wistfully at the flowing water and the lush trees growing beside it, something inside him was screaming to do his busking _here,_ and not at the more hip places where young people group around.

 

Besides, he could steal glances to his workplace and play it a few spiteful songs because _‘hah, you think you can suck me out of my individuality? Think again.’_

 

Busking at the business district also has another perk and that was more money, baby. And more people listening to his performance too. Old couples sitting at the cafe just right beside his nook would come around and give him all the coins in their wallets, their sweet little smiles making him forget about the obstacles he struggled through, and one of them was going out of his bed on a freezing early spring morning.

 

Mark would also get changes from lazy business executives who were called into work on Saturdays, throwing the odd pieces from their coffee purchase to his guitar case, probably as a thankyou that he’d made their day a little less dreadful.

 

And sometimes Mark would also get some full bills. Fivers usually, from the more generous and financially stable people (once his manager spotted him and gushed about his _‘hidden talent’_ before dropping in a ten into his guitar case, of course, after getting his promise that Mark will play on their next office get together), but he only ever got a _twenty_ once in his life. And it happened on that day.

 

Twenty.

 

He’d only played two songs and he got a twenty? What a day, what a day indeed.

 

Mark was too preoccupied with trying to make sure that his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him to notice that the twenty-dollar-bill-giver was still standing in front of him.

 

What he first noticed was a cough. An _‘excuse me’_ cough that caused Mark to then notice the neat dress shoes worn by the person. Up and up his eyes went, onto the nice pants and the nice suit the strange person was wearing, such a contrast to his loosened tie and his unbuttoned collars. His colleague? Mark wondered, why else would someone stand in front of him after dropping in their money,-

 

Oh.

 

Oh well if this is the case then,

 

Then Mark understood why he was standing there.

 

There was no boat tooting behind them but it felt as if they were taken back to the lake’s shore, with the similar cold wind blowing and with the familiar smell of fresh water mixed in with freshly brewed coffee. The only difference came from the fact that he was not wearing his strange bomber jacket and Mark was no longer just a broke university student busking at the lake’s boardwalk.

 

Renjun, _Renjun,_ his brain was mulling over the boy’s, the _man’s,_ name as if Mark was trying so hard to make sure that he was correct. That the one standing upon him was really who Mark thought he was. And it was. It was him, Mark was sure of that. Because when he smiled, when Renjun smiled as the sunlight peeked from the ruffling leaves, he didn’t look a day older from when Mark last saw him on that one fateful date night.

 

Renjun opened his mouth and took a deep breath, one that’s done only when someone was about to say something dearly important. But Mark didn’t have to hear it to _know_ _what it was going to be._

 

His friends will never believe a word he says after he told them this story.

 

_“You can open your eyes now.”_

 

**Author's Note:**

> written during my trip to New Zealand (the lakeside town inspiration is Queenstown but just less touristy lolol) (and their first meeting really happened to me it was what inspired this story, ofc irl nothing happened because real life isnt a cheesy romance story')  
> originally this was written for taewin (and the tae in this case is Taeil) but halfway through writing it i was like "this is so not winwin" so yes with some contemplation i realised this story was meant for markren so they are my saviour they saved this plot thanku kiddos. 
> 
> talking about kiddos, i raised their age by a year or two to make them legal to drink alcohol (at least in oz, nz, and europe LOL) //drink responsibly kids//
> 
> ps: hmu on twitter [@moon__soil](https://twitter.com/moon__soil)


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